Gratitude

Just a simply poem about gratitude, being granted respite, perhaps by life itself -deserving or undeserving.

Gratitude

Thank you,

maybe I don't

deserve the kindness,

but I am

ever so grateful.

Respite, again

the cards

didn't lie

and I

know in time

I will reward

your patience.

Short Goodnight Poem

Temper the stardust
floating right by,
measuring time by the swirl
of a magical cane.
Siphon the hope
of dragons you’ve slain.
Spin it to thread
and pull.

Snippet from Heart of Atirien

Just a short something, rough and unedited, but at least it's a piece of that ever elusive fantasy novel I've been banging my head against for years.

Nick went to watch the snow fall. The deep windows of the keep made for convenient resting places and vantage points. The fluffy whites promised a time of calm as they spread over the war ravaged Sevenara plains. He reached out a hand and caught a few small flakes. The icy flowers melted quickly in his hand, but one lasted a bit longer where it lay on his index finger. He brought the delicate crystal to his face and gazed at it solemnly.

"My lord?"
The shout from within the keep had Nick scrambling down from the ledge, the snow forgotten.
"What happened?" he called while striding quickly down the hall. Jaro came into view from a side corridor with a frown on his face. The once quite jovial woodsman had become more and more dour the longer they spent cooped up in the fortress of stone. Nick figured he missed the freedom of running with the wolves in the forest, but there was nothing he could do about that right now. At least the interior gardens provided some greenery if not the space wanted.

Being that as it may, finding nothing else to focus his energy on Jaro had appointed himself Nick's chief adviser and nurse maid. It was good to have someone to fill in the obvious gaps in his education when it came to the cultures and geographies of the land they traversed, but Nick was afraid he would snap one day at Jaro's constant presence by his side. He didn't need a babysitter, he didn't need a bodyguard. Or, well, maybe he did that last. His sword skills were improving, but they were not enough to protect from a sniper or an ambush. Something that had become painfully obvious that day in Evril.

Happy New Year!

I hope it's a good one for you all. I have just returned from this year's New Year's Eve party and am feeling decidedly mellow and content. I thought I'd share a New Year's poem, but I'm not sure if it's any good because I haven't written it yet.

So, here we go. Enjoy, and absolutely do have a good one!

For the longest time,

we thought we were alone.

The moon spent its hours

away from the light.

Then there was hope,

something went right.

We were happy,

as only the oblivious

can truly be.

Between these times,

were the mellows,

the half-struggles,

and the bored-now-routines.

Looking back, was it worth it?

Of course it was.

So, go on now to the future!

With brave steps

make the change

from year to golden year

and life, to charmed existence.

After Midnight Ramblings

Well sometimes poets write stuff they just gotta get out even though it's probably shite. This is one of those times. It itches inside if I don't publish my scribblings somewhere and this time the blog gets to bear the brunt of that onslaught.

If the rain falls hard

and the demons cry,

let the wolves be there

and run with winter.

If the thunder of

the dangers of youth's inclined

to remind us yet again -

then hold your ground.

Can tomorrow be salvation?

Doesn't matter -life is now

and all you have to do

to soar this time,

is to let yourself fly.

Long Night till Dawn

I should be sleeping soon, I really should. Unfortunately I'm a night owl and always have been. Doesn't matter when I get up in the morning, nine times out of ten I still have to force myself to head for the sack before dawn. There's always something I want to do, whether it's tinkering with my art or if it's reading or writing.

Speaking of those elusive words -I was so happy the other day when I finally managed to write a bit for Memoirs de Mort, but since then the muses have gone quiet again. All I have on my page is a half encounter with an M-16, and that's not even for said novel. I suck at writing with hope. I need a mission, a reason, an incentive. Knowing I might get published once I finish the damn thing just doesn't cut it with me. I want to know that the work is not in vain. Stupid, but that's me.

Leaving, parting ways, saying goodbye

I have a flair for the dramatic and my poems often reflect that. Poetry lends itself well to sad and serious subjects and who am I to defy the muses? Many of my poems are about parting ways. Either bittersweet goodbyes or spiteful divorces seem to be par for the course. It's not the only stuff I write about, but it does seem to get more than its fair share of attention. Might have something to do with my reading material...

Anyway, here's another old poem for your perusal. Think I wrote it in '05, if I'm not mistaken and I can't for the life of me remember the title, but here it is anyway. Enjoy!

The times of gold and light
when we were of one mind -
I treasure them darling,
believe nothing else,
but we need to leave them behind.

The nights we spent just talking
and the days in excited bliss -
I remember them clearly,
believe nothing else,
they are something I will miss.

But nothing can last forever
and I have a drifter’s soul -
the winds in my heart are shifting,
I can do nothing else,
but leave to make me whole.

Maybe tomorrow will be
a different story for you and me,
but today is the day
when I’ll start to drift away.

In a year you won’t know my touch
like you used to know it.
In a day I won’t speak as I once spoke.
But when you think I’ve abandoned you,
believe nothing else -
I love you and I’ve loved you
and I will love you constantly,
even when we’re drifting apart.